


Not Ready to Make Nice

by casey_sms (shinygreenwords), shinygreenwords



Category: The Social Network
Genre: Angst, Community:tsn_kinkmeme, Drama, Implied Relationships, M/M, Minor Violence, Translation Available, Unrequited Love, Unresolved Sexual Tension, 中文翻译 | Translation in Chinese
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-31
Updated: 2011-01-31
Packaged: 2017-10-15 06:30:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/157992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shinygreenwords/pseuds/casey_sms, https://archiveofourown.org/users/shinygreenwords/pseuds/shinygreenwords
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the last day in the deposition room, Eduardo goes home. Mark appears at Eduardo's doorstep, and acts like nothing happened, like they are still friends and the whole lawsuit was just business that has nothing to do with their personal life. Eduardo wants nothing to do with Mark, Mark persists.</p><p>For <a href="http://community.livejournal.com/tsn_kinkmeme/390.html?thread=1333894#t1333894">this prompt</a> at <a href="http://community.livejournal.com/tsn_kinkmeme/profile"><img/></a><a href="http://community.livejournal.com/tsn_kinkmeme/"><b>tsn_kinkmeme</b></a>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not Ready to Make Nice

**Author's Note:**

> **Warning/Kinks:** Angst, minor violence (with some blood), unrequited love, tiny reference to possible Mark/Priscilla (as a groupie), UST (for bonus points!)  
>  **Comments:** Title comes from the [song](http://www.elyrics.net/read/d/dixie-chicks-lyrics/not-ready-to-make-nice-lyrics.html) by Dixie Chicks. I'm writing a couple of fills at the moment so if there are mistakes, please let me know.
> 
> There is a [Chinese translation](http://www.mtslash.com/viewthread.php?tid=17898&extra=page%3D1) available (needs login) with much thanks to [lilianshan](http://lilianshan.livejournal.com/).

Eduardo slides open the locks to his apartment absently, still reviewing his mental itinerary. He ordered a pizza because it’s easy and the depositions wore him out. He’s tired. There are at least eight more items on his To Do List he should do before sleeping. He’s leaving the call to his father at the end of that list. He still needs to finish packing and that’s not even on the list. Eduardo is patting his pocket for his wallet when he looks up and sees-

Mark. With his pizza, a slice in his mouth.

Eduardo noticed that Mark is still wearing his deposition clothes too, sans tie. The deposition for the lawsuit that they just settled for. Eduardo doesn’t know what to say.

“I paid, it’s cool. Hope you don’t mind that I had a slice first.”

Eduardo is annoyed. “I do mind actually.” Mark always takes without asking. Most of the time, he’s never really minded. That’s what their relationship was, is – Mark takes, takes, takes. And he never said no, not until Mark decided to take his share of the company as well (then he gave it to fucking Sean Parker). Now Mark thinks he can pay for a stupid pizza and that everything will be ok? Even if Eduardo’s paid for Mark’s pizza more times than he can count, he doesn’t want to owe Mark anything. He digs out a twenty. “Here. Keep the change. I don’t want to talk to you.”

“Oops, no hands.” Mark shrugs. “I have your pizza.”

“You can have it,” Eduardo snarls. He throws the money at Mark because he is not sticking it in his pocket like they are still- like he used to.

“I have your pizza,” Mark repeats after almost dropping the pizza to pick the note up. “It’s your dinner. You should eat. You always told me to eat. You’re looking too thin.” He says it like he actually cares. Which he doesn’t because if he did, he wouldn’t have put Eduardo through it.

“You can keep the fucking pizza!” He can see someone peep their head around the corner. Eduardo wants to glare at them but he can see what this looks like. He’s the one who raised his voice. Shit. Now people are going to think he’s an asshole. “Keep it,” Eduardo hisses quietly. “You always take what you want.”

“I don’t like pineapple on my pizza.”

Eduardo knows. He used to pick them off for Mark so he’d actually eat the pizza. Because he actually cared about him. But right now when he sees Mark, he’s just angry. “I’m sorry you don’t like the pineapple on the pizza you stole,” he says sarcastically. Even now it’s him that apologizes. “You know what? I’m not sorry. You shouldn’t be here. I’m busy. I have nothing to say to you.”

“Wardo-”

“Don’t call me that,” Eduardo snaps. Mark has always had the ability to get under his skin.

“You’re my best friend,” Mark says like it’s a Fact of Life.

“We’re not friends. I don’t know you.”

“Yes, you do.” Mark says, spitting a piece of pineapple out with a grimace. “We went to college together. We shared a dorm. Remember when we got drunk, you kissed me and you stuck your hand down my pants?”

Eduardo flushes. “What the fuck Mark? Keep it down,” he hisses, yanking Mark inside and closing the door. He’s aware of how close they are standing. He’s just invited the devil into his place. He doesn’t know what he is doing.

Mark puts the box down on the fold-up table. The box takes up most of the table space. “Nice place,” he says around his second slice.

Eduardo struggles not to rip it out of his mouth. It’s his pizza first, dammit. “What do you want, Mark?”

“I think we should put this whole unpleasant business behind us. Start over. Tabula rasa.”

Eduardo stares. “I don’t even- Are you stupid? No of course you’re not. Are you mental? Did you get concussion on the way here because you tripped over your massively inflated ego?” He points at himself and Mark. “I just sued you. I just settled. You agreed.” He absolutely refuses to use the word “we”. There is no “we” between him and Mark anymore. “It’s. Over.” (He hates how much it sounds like a break up.)

“Exactly,” Mark agrees with a nod. “It’s over.”

Mark is unbelievable. “You stabbed me in the back!”

“It wasn’t personal. I regret if any feelings were hurt but you know I made the right choice. You weren’t doing your job. I had to let go of you.”

Against his better judgment, he engages with Mark. “That is _not_ what happened and you know it. You cut me out.”

“It was still the right choice.”

“So the ends justifies the means?” Eduardo says resentfully. “This is why I hate talking to you. You make everything so hard.” Once he’s said it, he wants to take the words back. He’s vulnerable again.

“No. I make everything easy. It’s simple. I don’t hold a grudge against you personally because of a bad business deal you made. You shouldn’t hold a grudge against me for protecting the interests of Facebook. And you don’t hate talking to me.” Mark sounds so sure. (Eduardo notices that he’s shucked off his hoodie at some point too like he’s confident Eduardo won’t kick him out.)

Eduardo let’s out a short laugh. “You don’t make things simple. Not everyone can compartmentalize like you.” It hurts that Mark keeps going on about his failures. He hears enough of that from his father. He wants to hurt Mark. “She was wrong. You’re not like a Stairmaster. You’re not even a computer. You’re a virus that people just can’t get rid of.”

Mark puts down his pizza slowly. “I’m kind of thirsty. Got a drink?”

Eduardo blinks, still buzzing with anger. He is going to get whiplash from the conversation changes. He goes with it because it’s easier. “I don’t have much,” Eduardo replies, rubbing his face. He can’t believe he’s doing this. “Beer or soda?”

“Beer would be great.”

Eduardo twists the top off for him before handing it over. The soda is left. Eduardo doesn’t bother with the glass and drinks straight from the bottle. It tastes flat. There isn’t anything else in the fridge.

“Here, have some.” Mark offers the pizza. “It’s pretty good.”

“Fine.” Eduardo eats it even though he doesn’t like it when other people have touched his food with their fingers and he hasn’t washed his hands. He finds himself saying, “It’s the best pizza place around here.”

“I liked Harry’s better. You know, around the corner from Kirkland.”

Eduardo doesn’t want to think about but he remembers. His mouth betrays him. “He gave us free sides sometimes. We practically didn’t have to order.”

“You had a thing for gourmet pizzas,” Mark continues. “You’d walk three streets for the overpriced flatbreads with fancy names masquerading as pizza.”

It’s a familiar argument. “Spoken from the person who likes the trashy type that will clog up your arteries and kill you.”

“The trashy type that you’re eating right now. Point.”

Mark always has to be so fucking right.

He finishes his pizza in silence. The crust feels too dry and he can feel the grease lining his stomach. He drinks the flat coke. It tastes like college. No one ever shopped unless they lost a dare. Only him and Chris could cook anyway. They always ate way more pizza than they should. Dustin always ordered the large coke and never finished it. He really doesn’t want to be thinking about this. It’s over. Mark is sitting on his couch like nothing happened between them. It hurts to think that it’s so easy for Mark.

“Another?” Mark asks.

“Not hungry anymore.” Eduardo’s hands are greasy. He gets up to wash them, undoing his cuffs and rolling them up so they won’t get wet.

“Thought you said it was the best. You used to eat at least half a box.”

Mark is bringing up the past again. “Maybe it wasn’t as good as I thought,” Eduardo says over the noise of running water.

When he comes out, Mark kicked his feet up, lying along the length of the tiny two-seater couch, watching TV like they’re hanging out.

Eduardo turns it off. “I need to pack. You need to leave.” He refuses to feel like an asshole.

“You’re leaving?” It’s said like a question. Like Mark doesn’t expect it. Mark looks confused.

“Yes.”

“Where are you going?”

If he tells him, Mark will probably follow him. Mark will probably be able to find out anyway but Eduardo wants a head start. “Away from you.”

“Want to watch a movie? I bought my laptop. It’s new and it’s got better processing power than the one you broke.” Mark has already knee walked his way to his backpack, booting his laptop up on top of the pizza box.

Eduardo cannot believe Mark is talking about this right now, like it doesn’t hurt him to think about it. As if what happened was an accident of some sort. He slams the lid of the laptop down, not caring if he catches Mark’s fingers. “Shut up.”

Mark winces but looks up calmly, undeterred. “I didn’t bring it up at the deposition and I could have. I didn’t plant the chicken story either.”

It’s not an apology. It sounds like a lame whatever the opposite of an apology is. “You want a gold star for that?” Eduardo asks mockingly.

“I met this girl. Her name’s Priscilla. She gave me her number and offered to blow me. Do you remember when we first got groupies? That time when-”

Eduardo punches Mark in the face.

If Mark hadn’t been kneeling he would have staggered with the force of the blow. As it is, he flails a bit, rocking back on his heels. He’s grabbing his face. Blood is dripping from his nose.

“Shit,” Eduardo says, his knuckles aching. He hates that his first thought is what Gretchen will say. What happens if it gets out to the press. (He’s just punched Mark. In the face. He couldn’t even bring himself to hit Sean but he hit Mark and he made him bleed.) “Shit, I’m sorry.” He is, but probably not for the right reasons.

He rummages through his fridge for the ice tray. He upends the cubes into a plastic bag and uses the tray to scrape a bit of frost off the sides as well so the bag doesn’t look so pitiful. He’s half expecting Mark to have run. Or punch him back. Mark would probably prefer to call the cops on him.

Mark is still on his knees, he’s pinching the bridge of his nose gingerly. He’s stripped his button down off and using it to staunch the blood flow but mostly just smearing the blood everywhere. He’s kneeling on the floor, bloodied and half-naked in Eduardo’s shitty apartment.

Eduardo holds out the bag of ice. He thinks he should probably offer a towel. He resists the urge to apologize again.

Mark takes the bag and puts it on the table, along with the ruined shirt. The red is vivid against the stark white. The blood is flowing sluggishly still. Mark looks at Eduardo blankly. “Go on. If that’s what makes you feel better.”

“What? Put the ice on your face.” He is not going to nurse Mark. He is not going to let Mark make him feel guilty. He clenches his hand into a fist almost automatically, the anger curling up inside him. He releases it quickly, disgusted with himself. This is what Mark has done to him.

“Do it again,” Mark says before closing his eyes, palms resting on his thighs. “Preferably not on my face so I won’t have to make up awkward lies.”

“What?” Eduardo repeats dumbly. Mark’s face is a mess. He messed up Mark’s face. Mark’s blood in his apartment. If anything happens to Mark, all evidence will point to him. He would become the primary suspect. (And they’d be right.)

Mark explains, “You prefer a dramatic physical release for your emotions. So hit me.” Mark hears Eduardo inhale sharply and steels himself.

Eduardo notices that he must have caught Mark’s upper lip. His teeth are bloody and his lips are sinfully red. He opens and closes his mouth several times before finding his voice. “Nonono. You are out of your mind. No. I’m not doing this.” He throws his hands up to shoulder height in a pathetic gesture of surrender before putting them on his head. (He wants to say “I’m not going to _hit_ you” but he did and what has he done?) “Get up.” In a more panicked voice, “Get up!”

Mark gets up and wipes under his nose with his hand, smearing the blood across his right cheek. He cocks his head slightly to the side, flashing the bruise coming up on the left side of his face, eyes never leaving Eduardo’s. Then he lunges.

Eduardo flinches, anticipating a punch from Mark. Mark grabs a fistful of his shirt and pulls him in, kissing him with bruising force. Mark tastes like blood, pizza and beer. Mark is probably bleeding on him. There is so much wrong with that. Mark is sucking on his lower lip, undoing the buttons of his shirt which Gretchen said-

Eduardo wrenches himself away, stumbling backward, breathing heavily. “I’m still mad at you and I’m still leaving.” He wipes his mouth on the sleeve of his shirt. He looks down. There’s a bit of blood smeared on the grey material. It’s ruined away. “This changes nothing.”

“So that’s it.” Mark picks up his hoodie, shrugging it on and zipping it up.

“What did you think? We could fuck and it would make everything better?” Eduardo says heatedly. “Like you can undo what you’ve done? I’m not a computer. You can’t just press a delete key.”

“We were good together.” Mark slides his laptop in his battered backpack.

“Maybe.” Eduardo doesn’t remember much now. The good times have been written over by bitter memories he’d rather forget. He wishes he could forget but he can’t no matter how many cocktails he downs. He’s had to relive how Mark eviscerated him, in front of the lawyers, in humiliating detail. It was like lying down on the deposition table naked and letting them undo the stitches holding him together so they could see how damaged he was. Is. (He knows his poker face didn’t fool anyone. They just pitied him too much to call him on it.)

“We were,” Mark says, sounding certain.

Mark stuffs the soiled white shirt in before seeming to remember something and pulling it back out again. He digs around with one arm until he fishes out a small, fancy gift-wrapped box. The corners of the bright blue paper are slightly worn. The silver bow on the top is wonky. “It’s for you,” Mark says, stating the obvious.

Eduardo sighs and doesn’t take it. “It won’t change anything.”

“It’s not what you think. Happy birthday.” Mark actually sounds regretful. He sets the gift on the table when Eduardo makes no move to take it. He goes back to shoving his shirt in his bag.

“What?” Eduardo knows he probably sounds stupid right now but it’s not his birthday. Mark never remembered his birthday. He maybe bought him a drink or some shots if they all went out but he never gave him anything.

“I was going to wait to give it to you as a surprise. I got it early. Kept it with me.” Mark is rubbing the back of his neck, not meeting Eduardo’s eyes. “Just in case.”

Eduardo wonders how long Mark has been carrying that inside his bag. He swallows. “I don’t want it.”

Mark straightens up. “It’s yours. Do what you want with it.”

“Fuck you.” Eduardo doesn’t care that it makes him sound like he’s in college again. “Just, fuck you.”

“If you want,” Mark quips, quirking his busted lip up into a smile.

Eduardo grabs the stupid box, spins around and hurls it. It bounces off the wall opposite Mark with a thud and lands harmlessly on the floor. He points at Mark with a shaking finger. Anger is thrumming through him. “You never change. You’ll always be the asshole that stabbed me in the back. Get out.”

Mark slings his backpack over one shoulder. He pulls out a twenty and puts it carefully on the table.

Eduardo doesn’t want it but he’s had enough of dealing with Mark. He jerks the door open pointedly.

“Have a safe trip,” Mark says quietly with an inscrutable expression on his face and then he’s gone.

Eduardo closes the door (gently because he will not slam it and give Mark the satisfaction of having gotten under his skin yet again). He does up the locks and checks them before sliding down to the floor. He rests his forehead on his knees, takes several deep breaths. He makes himself pull up his inner itinerary again. Right. He has to pack.

*

 _On flight to Singapore the next morning…_

The box is burning a hole in his pocket. (Well, not really, but it’s jabbing him in the side.) Eduardo doesn’t know why he has it in his pocket. Why he didn’t just chuck it into a bin somewhere. He suspects that he wants to know (maybe it could be some secret key that will unlock the mystery of whatever happened yesterday night, that night in Palo Alto or whichever night was the making of his downfall). Eduardo has no doubt that it’ll be hideously expensive because Mark has never been subtle. But he passed customs without a hitch so it’s not dangerous. (The custom officer looked very intently at the box and for a moment Eduardo had been worried that maybe Mark gave it to him to set him up and delay his boarding but the customs official merely gave him a smile and said, “You’re a lucky man” then winked at him.) Mark has never given him anything (except a lot heartache and 600 million dollars to shut him up). He has never willingly given him anything (not even his friendship, you know that’s not true). Eduardo grits his teeth. Damn Mark. Whatever it is in the box, it wouldn’t change anything, it couldn’t.

He’s flying First Class but the food isn’t that much better than Economy in his opinion. There isn’t that much to do. (He made sure that he finished his checklist after all.) He’s already read the paper cover to cover while waiting to board. He doesn’t feel like listening to music or watching a movie. After tapping his fingers against his thigh absently for an hour and ignoring the lump in his side, he gives in to his curiosity. Taking it out, he undoes the ribbon slowly, pulling at the ends whilst trying really hard not to think about long fingers clumsily tying a bow. The little box sits innocuously in front of him. Eduardo slides his finger under the paper at the ends, careful not to rip it (more out of habit than respect). He eases the box free.

It’s a Rolex box.

Feeling nervous, he looks around. Everyone is either asleep or absorbed by whatever they are doing. One great thing about flying First Class is there’s more privacy. Another reason is, he’s a nobody amongst these high fliers (and he hopes it stays that way). He lifts the lid of the box not sure why he’s holding his breath.

It’s a beautiful [watch](http://www.swissluxury.com/rolex-watches-datejust-lady-platinum-president.htm). It also looks very expensive, surprisingly classy (something that he would like under normal circumstances). Even under the reading light, the wristband is a shiny platinum, polished diamonds rimming the edge of the face and marking the hours. The dial is an ice blue. It is reminiscent of the color of Mark’s eyes, a brilliant pale blue in the light of the morning like the morning after- (Trust Mark to be egocentric even when he’s giving someone a present or it only him that has this honor?) Eduardo almost doesn’t want to touch it but he takes it out of the box, the cool metal warming to his touch. As he rubs the pad of his thumb over the watch face, he can feel the inscription on the back. Heart pounding, he flips it over.

 _If we could turn back time._

(Then what? It seems incomplete. Incongruent. Mark would have done it again and he knows it. They both know it. But maybe Mark regrets the way he did it. Maybe he regrets not having done more? Or is it less? Mark said that they were good together. What did he mean? Does he wish that they were back together? Together how? Why did he say it? Why did he give Eduardo this? Is this an apology? A bribe? A repayment? Now that Eduardo has it, then what? For a moment, Eduardo lets himself wonder if he would have done it any differently, if they fucked, if he forgave Mark, if he let Mark in again, if he-)

It’s too much. Eduardo puts it back in the box. He breathes and watches time tick forward.

**Author's Note:**

> AN: Okay. So I realized belatedly that the [watch](http://www.swissluxury.com/rolex-watches-datejust-lady-platinum-president.htm) is a lady’s watch. ~~I don’t care, Eduardo is the girlfriend everyone knows that.~~ Let’s pretend Mark had it especially done in men’s size or something.
> 
> On the ending: I wanted to leave it open, with a note of hope (I hope it came across that way). Originally he closes the box but I thought it’d be more interesting for him not to. Because Eduardo is a bit masochistic like that and I think the reason he’s hurting is because he still wants and he can’t let it go.


End file.
